


Centerpieces

by gaysinspace



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysinspace/pseuds/gaysinspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond had been on a deep cover mission for two months when the target proposed to him. James Bond had also been planning a wedding for two weeks before he was almost driven to madness.</p><p>Fortunately, wedding planners exist, and a particular man by the name of Q was here to save him from his misery.</p><p>[[The Wedding Planner AU that nobody asked for, but that I delivered anyway]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Centerpieces

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is kind of a context one. The next couple of chapters will get very juicy on 00Q goodness, I promise.

Deep cover was a complicated thing. The targets required hours of studying information, and a level of infiltration so advanced that even the agent involved would experience troubles when attempting to piece back together their own life rather than the fabricated life of their cover persona. Very few agents at MI6 were allowed to take on missions such as this one, as it required a level of commitment and ruthlessness that few were willing to put in. As it were, deep cover wasn’t simply pulling the trigger; it was everything in between the bullet and the target. Such being the case, M considered James Bond the ideal man.

This came as a surprise to many, given his habit of disappearing mid-mission, and the frankly ridiculously small amount of care he put into his paper work whenever he actually bothered to do it. And yet, here he was, sitting in front of an immaculate manila folder with the word “Alamo” neatly printed on the tab. The target himself wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary by his standards. A man named Albert Stone, 32, owner of a chain of vineyards across Europe. He’d arrived to Italy as a young man, pushed forward by greed and a history of success in his family. At the age of 26 his vineyards, Alamo Verde, became number one in wine production across the Northern hemisphere, a fact that has not changed since then. More interesting, though, is the string of highly illegal activity he keeps on the side.

His business currently revolved around providing new identities for wanted felons, along with the forgery of any documents required to ensure a safe and quiet life in a non-extradition country somewhere in the world. His work had caused the flee of several wanted terrorists and threats to national security. The methods Stone executed were watched for months, yet not a single hand-off was made in the period of surveillance, and not a single thread was uncovered in relation to the case. New intelligence had suggested that Stone hid forged documents and codes within the labels of his wine bottles, but the encryption and ciphering of such codes was so advanced that not even top MI6 cryptologists could wrap their heads around the methods used. In all aspects, Albert Stone was the textbook definition of an evil genius.

Bond’s mission was simple: get close, stay close, and pull the trigger if you’re told to. With no proof of illegal activity directly connected to Stone, MI6 had no leverage to obtain information from him, and also no grounds to make an arrest. Bond was to infiltrate Stone’s life under the cover of a man named Jacob Vance (graciously provided and fabricated by Q branch) and make sure to keep an eye out for any evidence. As of now, MI6 considered Stone an ambiguous target. In the correct light, he could be an invaluable asset to national security. Bond had to find out how deep his ties were to the black market, and if there was a chance of incorporating him into MI6 for private service. If the evaluation proved negative, Bond would have to flee once he blew his cover with the pull of his trigger.

* * *

 

Preparation for a deep cover mission may sound entertaining at first, but it is much less so when you have spent 3 hours reading through an interest inventory of your target and the statistical likelihood of a positive response to the conversational topic of the weather. The past 64 hours had been absolute hell, by Bond’s definitions. Although, any experience which deprived him of both sleep and a drink falls beneath that umbrella. He had been subjected to various tests under pressure after the first 12 hours in which he relentlessly studied his own story, being placed in various scenarios where he could possibly break character. In Bond’s mind, it was just a three-day long acting lesson.  
“Again” Eve commanded from across the table, snapping James out of his bitter reverie.  
“Which part, the one where he reacts in a positive way to talking about wine? Because if you ask me, Moneypenny, that is quite an intuitive response when considering this is a man who owns a series of vineyards”.  
Eve delivered what could only be described as an eye roll. “Well, James, tell me the exact statistical response of Mr. Stone in regards to different subtopics of wine”.  
James sat up in his chair, grimacing at the stiff sensation coming from his legs. “He is 16% more likely to have a positive response in relation to red wines, given the position of his vineyard as number one producer of this type. His responses to the conversation of white wine presents a large deviation, ranging from 22% to 85% positive depending on the vineyard in charge of the specific white wine. He presents a low positive response of 22% to wines from the Palo Alto region, as they are his biggest competitors, and an 85% positive response to wines originating in Spain, as the owners of the Quixote vine down in Barcelona are friends of his. He would also present a 100% negative response to the knowledge that I just spent 100% of my last 72 hours as James Bond learning about the statistical likelihood of his liking me when talking about wine”.

Eve scoffed, lowering the file in front of her. “You have been working hard the past days, Bond. If it were up to me you’d have a vodka martini in your hand right now”  
“Great, then call up the drinks because I am surely in the mood for celebration”  
“Hmmm…” Eve mused, picking up the papers in her vicinity. “Unfortunately, it is not up to me. You have a 20 minute break and you have cover review with Tanner”.  
“Lovely” Bond lied while pulling at his tie. “Only 8 hours left of my life as James Bond, and I have to spend some of it with Tanner.”

* * *

 

One hour and thirty-five minutes remained of his preparation time when James Bond received a call to his flat. In the past 72 hours, he had managed to obtain about 3 combined hours of sleep. Not ideal conditions to go into a long-term mission in, especially one in which first impressions were crucial.

“Bond” he barked into the phone, preparing to place the caller in a chokehold if the situation at hand was not life or death.  
“007, I hope I did not wake you” came the sound of M’s voice through the line.  
“No” Bond lied through his teeth, suppressing the yawn coming his way. “I was actually just reading through the suggested list of conversation topics provided to me by our analytics team. I don’t mean to pry, but is it true that we dug through Stone’s trash for months in order to obtain some of these things, because honestly that is mildly embarrassing for Britain’s greatest intelligence organization”  
“We do what we have to do” M replied, the sound of shuffling paper coming from the other side of the line.  
“Not that I do not immensely enjoy your company, sir, but I do have a high amount of preparing to do. May I ask to what I owe the honor of this call?”  
“I was just looking to touch base with you, 007. I need you to understand just how crucial this mission is.”  
“I believe the 72 hours of briefings in which I was repeatedly told to ‘not fuck this up’ made it remarkably clear”  
“In that case, I’m calling to tell you that there is no limit to what you must do to keep this target in your sights. I don’t care if you have to spend horrible Christmas dinners with his family or marry him. This mission is of great import, and as an agent, it is your job to make sure you complete it effectively”  
“Well sir, when you put it like that, it sounds like a lovely experience”.

* * *

 

That’s easy to say when you’re still in London, and still James Bond. The situation wasn’t quite as simple for Jacob Vance. Eight weeks into the mission, he had already been subjected to things much worse than Christmas dinners. An endeavor much more cruel and nerve wrecking than that: meeting the in-laws. They were sweet and obviously had good intentions, but as soon as the conversation steered towards wine he had a strong urge to jump out the window and see where luck would take him.

His cover, Mr. Vance, was actually a wine expert. An interesting juxtaposition with the fact that James Bond did not have even the most remote interest in wine beyond drinking it to get drunk, and only if he was truly desperate. The mission had been successful up to this point, the initial meeting between Vance and Stone occurring at a gala in Salviatino set up the mission to be an absolute success. They hit it up immediately, chatting throughout the night about wine, literature, and whatever other topic seemed to come up (or happened to be carefully inserted into the conversation in order to elicit a positive response). Bond toned up the charm, and two weeks later he was being wined and dined on a yacht off the coast of Greece. Bond had always enjoyed the finer things in life, and the mission so far had catered to his needs perfectly. He was the perfect boyfriend by Stone’s standards: attentive, interested in wine, willing to give in the bedroom. Their relationship had bloomed over the course of eight weeks, bringing him to the current situation: sitting at a restaurant in Florence with Albert’s parents.

He didn’t think much of the meal at first, just another one of the countless dinners he had been treated to throughout the course of the mission. Yet something seemed odd. The atmosphere of the restaurant seemed too calm and performed, even staged. Set-up of the lighting and tables had been modified to give the room a more romantic staging, Bond dared to say. And then there was the subject of Albert’s behavior. He had been trained to spot even the slightest shift in human behavior, especially during life-compromising missions such as this could turn out to be if he slipped. Albert had seemed on edge all day, rushing Bond through their usually relaxed every day routine to a point in which they even arrived 30 minutes early to dinner. The changes had Bond wondering what had happened in order to make Stone become so nervous all of a sudden. It seemed like a nervous anticipation had filled every gap of his demeanor.

Bond was on autopilot all throughout the dinner, keeping casual conversation while his mind worked furiously through the possible scenarios. It was common knowledge that Stone’s parents were aware of his side business, and that they had come to reap the benefits themselves. Their usual security detail, made up of two relatively normal men in suits, had been replaced by two heavily armed and evidently trained guards who looked ahead with stony expressions. Bond’s pulse raced while his mind reached a string of conclusions, mostly leaning towards the negative side of things. The hand automatically reaching for his Walther stilled as Albert stood up, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“If I could have your attention, please” he chimed, rising up a glass of wine. The scarcely populated restaurant went quiet, interested patrons leaning over to see what was happening.  
“I am here tonight with three people very special to me. My dear parents, who have raised me to be the man I am today and have taught me the power of tradition, Mama, I can never thank you enough for the values you have given me in order to bring me to this point” Stone took a pause, staring into his wine glass for a few seconds before recovering his voice.  
“I am also here with my partner, Jacob. It was only two months ago that he found his way into my life, a stranger at a gala event full of familiar faces. Ever since then, we’ve been together”  
If this was a plot to kill him, Bond thought, it was a very strange one indeed.

He forced a smile over his wine glass; absentmindedly thumbing at the watch Q branch had fitted with tranquilizer darts.  
“Jacob, I know it hasn’t been long, but I feel that with you I have found the peace my parents found with each other so long ago”  
Bond’s thought process switched so fast he almost got whiplash.  
“And for that reason, I have brought you here today”

It had been a possibility at the back of his mind, of course, but years of conditioning as a killer had taught him to assume the worst first, and deal with whatever else could possibly happen based on that initial response.  
“This is the restaurant my grandfather proposed to my grandmother at, and where my parents followed their footsteps many years later. I’m a firm believer in tradition, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, I guess all there is left to say is”  
Bond watched, stunned, as Albert lowered himself on to one knee in front of his chair.  
“Jacob Vance, will you marry me?”

* * *

 

Wedding planning, it turned out, was not really the forte of a man who had learned to care more about wine than about anything else at a very young age. It also turned out that wedding planning was not the strength of a man trained to kill. Needless to say, the first two weeks of the wedding plans had been a disaster. They called multiple bridal stores, requesting to see only the china they had available for wedding dinners, and yet always left the store with piles of invitation stationary and more trivia on the importance of centerpieces than either of them could handle. Bond had wanted a private event, but of course Albert would want to go all-out on the wedding. And Jacob Vance, being the perfectly pleasing fiancée, would have no doubts or complaints when agreeing to the ceremony. But if Bond was going to get fake-married to a criminal target, he was going to get fake-married at a ceremony that was so beautiful it would move even the stoniest of criminals to tears.

“No, I don’t want the cream parchment paper. This is 2015, not a wedding reenactment of Lord of the Rings” Albert complained on the phone for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.  
Bond had enough wedding card stationery trivia to last him the rest of his life.  
“The matte paper did seem to compliment the centerpieces, though. The high rose vase matched the soft coloring of the tablecloth. But wait, wasn’t the china going to be cream too? When did I order cerulean detailed plates?”

This was the style of conversation he was forced to hear on a daily basis, leading to the point in which he swore he would shoot the bridal store owner if he had to hear a single word about the shape of wine glasses for the rehearsal dinner. The pressure of planning a wedding was affecting his positive relationship with Stone, something he could not afford in the current situation.

And so he grabbed his laptop, made some calls, and set up a meeting with a man who was called the ‘best wedding planner in Europe’”. He exposed the idea to Albert, who seemed to agree to the idea after Bond commented on just how much free time they’d have together if they got someone else to do the stress work.  
“Fine” he’d sighed, sliding down his desk chair “but your guy better be damn good at what he does”

* * *

 

Bond had been exposed to many unimpressive sights in his life, but this one sure took the trophy.

The man who stood in front of him couldn’t even be accurately described as a man. Skinny, dressed in an unfashionable jumper and carrying a satchel stood the wedding planner he had found going simply by the name of “Q”.

According to multiple sources, and a subsequent study by MI6 requested by yours truly, he had an uncanny satisfaction rate and every wedding he’d been involved with had been featured in one newspaper or another. Bond couldn’t help but stare at the man before him, attempting to hide his growing doubt.

“Welcome, Q. Come in” he moved away from the door, making space for Q to walk in the house.  
“Mr. Vance, I presume” Q spoke with a strong British accent, setting down his briefcase on the dining room table. Bond simply nodded, taking in a better look of Q beneath the natural light provided by the sunroof. Despite his horrifying sense of fashion, Q was not bad looking in the least. The unruly dark hair on his head perfectly contrasted the pale skin hiding beneath it, and the simple glasses framed his green eyes in a pleasing way. It didn’t, however, change the fact that he looked like he was a bloody twelve-year-old playing adult with his father’s satchel.  
“How long have you been doing this?” came the question he’d been waiting to ask from the moment he saw Q standing at his door. Q’s shoulders squared, proving this was obviously a question he got quite often.  
“I’ve been working as a wedding planner for approximately a year, time in which I have planned seven of the most publicized and talked about weddings in the entirety of Italy and Europe. I am actually a student, just doing this in my free time to earn some money, but I’m very good at what I do” Q gave a pointed glance at James, his hands beginning to open the leather satchel. If James was not impressed before, he had certainly earned some respect for Q. Any person with such direct confidence in their abilities deserved credit.  
“Very well, Q. I should start by saying that I have literally no interest in planning a wedding, and if it was up to me I’d get married in a cabin in the middle of the woods in order to not have to deal with stationary and centerpieces. My fiancée, Albert, seems to think the only proper way to get married is to make a ceremony that would put Jay Gatsby to shame. You’re here as the middleman. Come up with something that can please both of us, and I assure you this will be the easiest money you’ve ever made”

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond, a smirk playing on his lips.  
“Centerpieces are quite important, you know. It’d be wise of you to appreciate their power”  
“Honestly, dear, I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than think about centerpieces for one more second of my life”  
“Well, then I guess it’s lucky I’m here to make your life easier.”  
“I guess it is” Bond finished, and if he noticed the way Q’s hair fell over his forehead as he bent down to pick up some papers, it was nobody's business.

If he was going to be stuck planning a wedding, he might as well make sure he was stuck doing it with someone he enjoyed working with.

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea a couple of days ago, and I decided I should write it. This is my first attempt at 00Q fic, and quite frankly most of this was written at 3am so I'm sorry if it's a mess.
> 
> You can find me at doubleohqs.tumblr.com


End file.
